


Admit It

by mochalatte94



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Eventual Fluff, F/M, Post-Canon, Reader-Insert, Relationship(s), Sex, Smut, Unnamed Female - Freeform, but no other ones, gun dad falls in love, mildly self-indulgent, sort of, spoilers for iwai's confidant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 15:51:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11016606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochalatte94/pseuds/mochalatte94
Summary: Iwai is a lonely gun dad and gets more out of his part-time help than he expected.Female is unnamed and has no specific physical description.





	Admit It

**Author's Note:**

> YOOOOOO I wrote this whole thing pretty much in my head last night when I couldn't sleep.
> 
> I'm about to finish P5 a second time and I just can't stop thinkin' 'bout Gun Dad.
> 
> This is a different style than what I usually write, but I loved coming up with this story. Let me know what you think!

He’s almost always surprised when a customer comes into Untouchable.

Enthusiasts will pay an arm and a leg for model guns, and that’s how he keeps his business running, but if anyone else enters his store it’s usually a mistake and they quickly leave after taking in their dark, dingy surroundings and the forty-year-old man with the hard frown and the stare of a hawk behind the counter.

Iwai certainly doesn’t expect a young woman, clad in what he’d call almost business attire, to enter his store and ask if he’s hiring, of all things. He has to ask her to repeat herself before he’s convinced that no, this isn’t a prank. She meets his gaze head-on and explains herself, not mincing words or playing games.

It might just be the heels she’s wearing, but something about her makes her seem taller than she really is.

They speak for a few moments, him incredulous and her matter-of-fact, and apparently no one else in the area needs a part-time hand—or at least not one on her schedule—and she wants to work. For him. A few times a week.

It doesn’t take much to keep the store afloat, but suddenly he’s far too aware of the dust and the grime and the stark unfriendliness of his place. Maybe he could use an extra hand around here.

He asks her if she knows shit about guns.

She says no, but it’s never too late to learn.

\--

He nods at her wordlessly in greeting whenever she comes into the shop to work. She removes her jacket and purse, hanging them on a back room shelf, and he explains briefly what he needs her to do that day. Most of it is cleaning, and at first she is mildly affronted by his requests—she isn’t a maid, after all—but god knows the store needs everything she does, and she resigns herself to her tasks.

Iwai pays her well, and she enjoys the results of her work very much. Sometimes he looks at what she’s done as if he’s seeing his shop for the first time in years, and it’s very gratifying.

Sometimes he looks at her too, curiously, when he thinks she’s not watching.

One day, a few weeks after she takes the job, she gets up on a chair and removes a model from the top shelf in the window, intending to dust it off and at least polish the side that potential customers can see from outside. He looks at her as she gets down, and she offers him a smile.

Tell me about this one, she says.

His surprise is evident, though she reminds him that she’s interested in learning about where she works. The corners of his mouth quirk into what’s nearly a smile, and she rejoices silently at this flash of emotion.

She thanks him for the detail afterwards, asking a few questions to cement her understanding, and watches as his walls open up to her just for a moment, letting her see his enthusiasm for what he does—it’s refreshing and handsome and not so goddamn impassive.

For the first time, she thinks about him at night.

\--

He can tell the moment the air between them changes, and it’s when he tells her about that goddamn gun. His fault for dropping his guard.

She breathes a little bit more quickly when she’s close to him. Her movements are more careful, more calculated; an extra swish of her hips here and there when she knows he’s watching. He tells himself he’s uninterested and tries to convey that with his usual stoicism (because what is she, fifteen years younger than him?) but damned if it’s not flattering, and his part-time employee has a pretty face and an ass that could kill and the quickest wit he’s known in a long time.

Iwai can tell it’s all gone to shit the day she comes in wearing a skirt that shouldn’t be allowed anywhere but the red-light district in Shinjuku, making him want to slap that pretty little smirk off of her face and send her to her knees in front of him.

(He reacts just as he always does: a nod, a few words, motioning to her that she’ll be manning the register today.)

She knows he’s watching. He’s sure of it. She leans over the counter to rub at a spot on the glass casing, dangerously close to putting her ass on display, and he swears under his breath. This could be messy.

Tsuda comes in before an hour passes, presumably to chat and browse, and Iwai is grateful for the distraction. Since all of that shit with Masa happened, he’s rekindled somewhat of a connection with the man, and—

Except Tsuda is looking her up and down and _fuck_ is Iwai grateful he can’t see her lower half behind the counter, because he’d never hear the end of it (and he doesn’t want anyone else looking at her that way, but he won’t acknowledge that thought.)

The other man spouts some mildly lewd remark, grinning from ear to ear, eyes nowhere near her face, and she responds coolly; placidly. He presses her a few times and she glances nervously to Iwai, just over Tsuda’s shoulder.

Iwai takes her cue and pushes his acquaintance out of the shop, saying we’re about to close, come in another day, gritting his teeth and resigning himself to an irritated future conversation about cock-blocking your friends but not caring because he’d much rather subject himself to that than see her uncomfortable with someone else’s attention.

But he’s almost angry when he locks the door and turns back toward her, stalking behind the counter and staring her down, telling her Tsuda only voiced what he himself had been thinking all goddamn day, except Iwai was being polite and not bringing it up but _tell the truth, are you wearing that for me?_

She goes a brilliant pink and looks at him through lowered lashes, saying yes, if he wants, _I’m sorry._

He sighs through his teeth and closes the distance between them in two steps. Fingering the hem of her [obscenely short] skirt and effectively trapping her against the counter, he tells her this is the last chance to back out, he’s given her all the chances in the world today.

Iwai can smell her heady arousal, and paired with the hitch in her breath when he says _last chance_ , an imperceptible shudder runs straight through him to his half-hard cock.

She says nothing; she just looks up at him and nods.

He slips his hand underneath her skirt to the already-damp fabric beneath, crooking a finger to press against her sex. His mouth is on hers too, tongue harshly delving into her wet mouth with no consideration given to pace. She gasps, bucking her hips insistently against his hand, and he registers lustily how sensitive she is so soon.

It’s not long before he’s pushing the useless fabric of her underwear aside and sliding two fingers into her as she clenches around him; it’s even less time before he breaks their kiss, drags his mouth up her neck, and hisses _come for me_ into her ear which she does almost immediately with a muffled moan.

He’s grateful to his long jacket for hiding the substantial tent at the front of his pants when he tells her it’s getting late and she should probably head home before the inevitable storm sets in.

When she’s gone and the thunderclouds are rolling in over Shibuya, he goes to the back room and finishes himself slowly, picturing his hand between her thighs and then her mouth between his legs.

\--

It’s business as usual when she comes back into work the next week. Iwai is stoic and gruff even when she offers conversation; he answers her shortly but not impolitely. Out of the corner of her eye, though, she watches him glance at her more than before. He covers less ground than normal in the book he’s been reading for the last week.

She lets this go on for a couple of days. He’s not avoiding her, but he’s pretending nothing happened (or ignoring what did), and she finds she can’t bear it for long.

He only puts his [unread] book down when she locks the shop door and kneels in front of him where he sits, assuring him she’s finished what he asked her to do today. Her slightly shaking hands move to undo the zipper of his jacket, the fastenings of his belt, the buttons of his pants; he simply watches, no obvious expression on his face—but she finds what she’s looking for when his cock is already stirring to life beneath her fingers.

The only sounds he makes are a soft groan when she takes him into her mouth and a muttered _fuck_ when he watches her slide a hand between her own legs a few moments later. It seems that he has a better idea then, because he pulls her gently off of him and motions for her to follow.

The better idea is fucking, and she’s cool with it.

He fucks her up against the wall in the back room, growling streams of profanities in her ear—which, she thinks wryly, is more than she’s ever heard him say even after nearly a month of working for him, but she’s not complaining because his voice is rough and low and she’s melting against him. She grabs tightly onto the surrounding shelves to steady herself and keeps her eyes open, wanting to watch him take his pleasure from her. Iwai is a sight; all hard muscle and shadow, a sheen of sweat covering his brow; and _god_ she hopes he’s been thinking about this as much as she has.

Later she fingers the bruise he sucked into her skin at the juncture of her neck and shoulder and smiles to herself.

\--

She invites him out to dinner a few days later.

Well—not so much _out to dinner_ as to grab a cup of coffee and a pastry or something before they go home for the day, and of course he says okay because he can’t say no to her anymore for reasons he’s afraid to admit to himself.

At the diner, he asks her general, boring questions about her life between sips of his black coffee, like you’re supposed to do out of politeness, but it turns out that she’s fucking interesting in addition to everything else and he listens to her with enjoyment. _Christ._

He’s almost relieved when his phone buzzes and he can tear himself away from the conversation, because it’s so unlike him to actually like talking to someone at length. It’s a text message from Kaoru, just checking in on him because he’s out later than usual. He mentally rebuffs himself for not telling the kid he wasn’t going to be home at the normal time and types out a quick response.

She looks at him questioningly and asks if everything is okay in that concerned voice of hers and he tells her it’s just his son, watching her face for the inevitable negative reaction he’s afraid of.

But it doesn’t come, and instead she smiles and asks him about Kaoru.

He can feel his face lighting up as he explains that Kaoru is sweet, bright, and a little bit sheltered (but that’s Iwai’s own damn fault) and he wonders if he’s just happy to talk about his adopted son or if he’s happy that she’s interested in his life and not put off by the fact that he has a kid at all.

Maybe it’s some of both.

She asks why he laments about the fact that Kaoru’s a bit naive, and Iwai just fucking tells her about his yakuza ties like it’s no big deal.

Goddamn, he’s getting soft.

She listens with wide eyes, nodding and telling him to continue at the appropriate times, and says afterward that she doesn’t think of him any differently (but she’s a tiny bit flushed, and he wonders if the knowledge of his background doesn’t turn her on just a little bit, because he thinks she might be the type).

He pays for their coffee and continues to wonder why he’s blushing like a goddamn schoolboy as she bids him goodbye and disappears into the Shibuya evening.

\--

He’s the one to initiate things the next time around, pulling her into the storeroom and pushing her skirt up to her breasts, mouthing at her clit over her panties before she can even ask for it. His hat is on the floor next to them and she takes the rare opportunity to bury her hands in his short, greying hair, kicking a leg up to rest on his shoulder as he ravages her with his tongue. His hands come up to squeeze her ass. She throws her head back against the wall and comes against his mouth hard and fast and suddenly he’s standing in front of her, pulling his dick out of his pants and flipping her around so she’s bent over the shelving unit next to them and then he’s inside of her. His thighs slap against her ass and it’s impossibly frantic sex they’re having, as if they’re desperate to figure something out or it’ll keep them alive or some other stupid metaphor.

When all is said and done, Iwai pulls her back up to a standing position and puts his arms around her waist from behind after he pulls her skirt back down to her hips. She’s surprised at such a tender gesture, and then he asks her what they’re doing. What she wants.

She’s silent for almost a full minute, trying to figure out how best to tell him, and then eventually, eloquently settles on _I like you_ , which makes her feel fucking stupid and she’s glad he’s behind her so he doesn’t see the blush coloring her cheeks.

She doesn’t expect him to return the sentiment, being a stubborn older man with a son to take care of and a store to manage, but he turns her around and tells her he likes her too and wants to keep seeing her and doesn’t want to push her into anything but this feels good, this feels right, this makes him smile.

Speechless and grinning, she pulls him against her for another round.

\--

Iwai knows that she’s upset he hasn’t told Kaoru yet.

It’s been almost a month of them seeing each other for real, now, and he’s been to her place overnight more than once but they’ve never been to his.

He knows she’s upset and he knows she’s worried that he’s ashamed of her even though he does his best to reassure her he could never be.

But, she tells him one day, she’s not afraid he’s ashamed of her—she’s afraid he’s ashamed of himself. She worries that he doesn’t think he deserves this happiness and doesn’t think Kaoru thinks he deserves it, and though he’s not wont to admit it, she’s right.

She stops asking him after a while, frustrated with his answer, and eventually drops the subject altogether. He tells himself he’ll let Kaoru know when he’s ready, and meanwhile wonders if he’ll ever be brave enough to approach the topic on his own.

\--

It happens when neither of them are prepared.

They’re at the shop, Iwai’s hands on her waist as she cleans the barrel of the model pistol on the front counter, his mouth on her neck; she’s smiling and warning him not to try anything or she’ll drop the gun by accident—

The door opens and a messy-haired, bespectacled teen in a sweater-vest enters.

Iwai’s eyes widen and he moves away from the woman in front of him, but not quickly enough.

Kaoru looks curiously between the two people behind the counter for what seems like a much longer time than in reality, and then a grin breaks out across his face as he laughs, _shit, Dad, did you get a girlfriend?_

The woman in question offers Iwai a nervous smile as he admonishes his son for bad language (because the pot will always call the kettle black), swallows his fear, and says yes, because he’d be stupid to lie and honestly he thinks he fucking lov—

Kaoru cuts Iwai’s thoughts off with a high-five and a _good on ya_ and introduces himself to her, smiling as he shakes her hand. Iwai shakily returns to her side and puts an arm around her waist and she beams up at him, model pistol still in her other hand, and _goddamn_ all he can think of is how grateful he is for Kaoru; how grateful he is for her.

_It’s never too late to learn_ , he thinks.


End file.
